


Forgiven

by Lassarina



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-12
Updated: 2008-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-30 04:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lassarina/pseuds/Lassarina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The time has come for Seifer to make amends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgiven

He hasn't been here nearly long enough to forget how long it's been, or even to need marks on the walls to show him the days, not like he did in Ultimecia's castle. Still, the long days blur into each other, an expanse of nothingness broken by meals at regular intervals, and mocking guards at irregular ones. They won't let him out to exercise, because they're afraid he'll break free and run (and of course, he would, because he won't play by their rules.) His cell isn't big enough to pace – seven feet by seven feet. Ultimecia kept him in smaller rooms from time to time.

Here there are sounds, and they are normal, human sounds, not the drowned rasp of melting scales on a stone floor or the scream of a creature that once had been four separate animals, fused now by Ultimecia's spells into a pain-wracked monstrosity.

If he keeps thinking about her, he really will go crazy. He tries reciting bits of half-remembered SeeD lessons, but that leads him to thoughts of Garden and the purpose of SeeD which leads him back to her, and he's so fucking bored that it's almost an improvement, until he starts to feel the bright stinging lash of magic in his memory, her nails raking his skin, and he leaps off the bed to stand, shuddering, with his hands braced on the wall.

It's been eight days.

Oh, sure, they've tried to get him to talk. They sent military officers of varying rank, who suggested that if he would only confess his crimes, it would go easier. He knows it for the lie it is, and he laughed in their faces. But since they haven't tried to torture him yet, they've been waiting for something. He wants to know what they're waiting for, wants to know who sent them after him. They don't tell him, so when they're not sending useless officers to do their grunt work, he lies on the hard, lumpy bed and does his best to amuse himself.

He hears the door open, but he doesn't bother sitting up. It's another Galbadian guard, here to gloat about how easily they captured him, or some other equally stupid toady—

"Leave us."

He knows that voice. He last heard it shouting commands as they fought his Sorceress, before the whole world went to hell and he had to find his way through the tangled mess that was Time after Ultimecia had done with it.

The door swings shut and latches. Seifer opens his eyes. "Leonhart."

"You are such an _idiot."_

That might be the most emotion he's heard Leonhart express since Ellone left the orphanage. He links his hands behind his head, still not bothering to sit up. "Well, then. The high and mighty Commander must have his moment of triumph, I suppose."

"Damn it, Seifer, this is not a game."

He swings his feet off the narrow, musty bed and sits up. Leonhart is wearing the full, formal SeeD uniform, boots polished to a high gloss. Must be serious business. He's not carrying Lionheart, though. Maybe the guards made him leave it outside.

"If I'm such an idiot, maybe you can explain to me how Galbadian troops managed to infiltrate Balamb and steal me out from right under your nose, _Commander."_

Leonhart grits his teeth. "SeeD set no guard on you. I told you that you were free to go as you pleased."

"So why are you here?" He knows the answer, of course. Leonhart's warped sense of duty will not permit him to have Galbadia run Seifer's trial. He'll be bound and determined to make it a Garden affair.

"When Galbadia announced your capture, I had Quistis negotiate with them to let us try you under our own regs."

Seifer raises an eyebrow. It's more effort than he expected, from Leonhart. "Squally, I didn't know you cared."

Leonhart takes two swift steps, pulls him to his feet, and slams him into the wall. Before he can lean closer, Seifer twists free and turns them about, slamming him back into the wall and pressing close to kiss him. Nothing here has changed—the same taste, same way Leonhart grips his shoulders tight enough to hurt.

When Seifer leans back, Leonhart opens his eyes slowly, and damn but doesn't he look nice with his uniform crinkled and his lips red and swollen.

"We can't do this here," he says.

"Like hell we can't. The walls are thick." Seifer grins at him, one hand sliding down his side to cup Leonhart's cock through his pants.

Now that _is_ different, the way his eyes stay focused even as his hips push forward into Seifer's hand. "Seifer, you do know—" His voice catches, breaks, when Seifer's hand slides inside his pants to touch bare skin. "—You do know you've— _damn it,_ be reasonable—put Garden in an impossible situation?"

"I would say that Galbadia did that, not me." He leans closer, bites the side of Leonhart's neck. Leonhart twists, but with his back against the wall and Seifer pressed against him, he isn't going far.

"Regardless, there's not much Garden can do to help you." It's fascinating, watching him be all cold business while he's arching into Seifer's hand, his cheeks flushed and his fingers gripping Seifer's arms so hard he's sure he'll have bruises later.

"I never asked for Garden to help me." Seifer gauges the moment, pulls his hand away right before it would be enough to send him over the edge. He waits for Leonhart's eyes to focus on him fully. "So why are you here, besides the chance to gloat?"

Leonhart pulls away, and Seifer lets him. He straightens his uniform, brushing out most of the creases, and already that cold distance has wrapped around him again, despite the fact that his pants still don't fit properly. "I came to say I'm sorry."

That's confusing enough that Seifer doesn't try to stop him when he walks the step and a half to the door and raps firmly on it. The guards let him out and Seifer sits down on his bed, thinking hard. What the hell would Leonhart have to apologize to him for?

The door opens a second time, to admit the redheaded soldier who's been here twice already to plague Seifer. You'd think, looking at him, that he's all fun and good times, but there's something cold and dead in his eyes that reminds Seifer of Ultimecia's fish-monsters.

"Your friend left this," he says cheerfully, dropping a piece of paper in Seifer's lap.

Seifer looks down at it. It's all drawn up on official parchment, crowned by the seal of Galbadia's government. A death warrant, with his name typed neatly at the top, and Leonhart's name scrawled, impossibly messy, on the signature line at the bottom.

He hands the parchment back to the soldier, who spends some ten minutes gloating and taunting him. He gets bored when Seifer doesn't react, and slams the door behind him when he leaves.

Seifer leans back against the wall and folds his hands behind his head. "Forgiven," he says to no one.


End file.
